


A museum or a home?

by IceBreeze



Category: All For the Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Drabble, F/F, References to blood and death, The Queen and The Guardian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-26
Updated: 2016-03-26
Packaged: 2018-05-29 08:12:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6366196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IceBreeze/pseuds/IceBreeze
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Museum’s were always a special place for Renee. She just never anticipated how much.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A museum or a home?

**Author's Note:**

> For [Poze-laceen's](http://poze-laceen.tumblr.com/) prompt: 'Renee's favourite place to go is the museum.'
> 
> Thank you for the prompts! This did not turn out the way I intended it to and I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing, but I hope you like it!  
>    
>  [Please send me a prompt and I'll write something for you!](http://polyhymina.tumblr.com/ask)

Renee's favorite place to go is the museum 

For as long as she can remember, Renee’s always loved museums. She always felt at home in them, able to relax and let her thoughts (her concerns, her fears and her worries. The _what ifs_ and _if onlys_ , the constant feeling that this was only a dream and she’d wake up to find herself back in a ring with a knife in her hands and a body at her feet. The voice at the back of her head that kept telling her to not get complacent because God wouldn’t help her and she’d lose everyone she loved), fade away into a distant memory, because they didn’t matter when she was there. They were unimportant, because she was safe. She could breathe again.

 _(Perhaps it was because she felt at home among the exhibits, among relics of the past that had stories to tell and had survived so many struggles, but were loved and accepted now because they could move on from the past. Perhaps it was because she felt a kindred bond with them, wanting to move away from the past and to have a happy future- something she’d never been able to think of before, not back when she was a child and all she knew was pain, pain,_ pain).

It soon became her personal hideaway, a safe space she could go when things became too much. A place where she didn’t have to smile and help other people with their problems in the days where she felt like she was falling apart, where she was trapped by the times when it was dark and there was nothing but death and violence and blood everywhere. When she’d see blood on every surface. 

_(It clung to her skin, never drying out because there was always more and she felt dirty, worried that someone would look at her and see it, that they’d see what she really was and would take everything from her. It was there when she closed her eyes, drowning her because there saw so much blood and she couldn’t escape because it was on her, it was in her,_ it was her _)._

This was one of the few things she hadn’t shared with anyone (not even Andrew). Any questions as to where she’d disappeared to went unanswered and soon the team learnt not to ask her about it, for which she was grateful. She didn’t know why exactly (perhaps she was ashamed. Perhaps she wanted it remain something private for her and her alone. Perhaps she just wasn’t ready yet), but the museums trips remained something precious for her.

_(Sometimes it was lonely, being surrounded by strangers with no-one to lean on, but then she’d remember the blood on her hands and think, ‘Ah. This is what I don’t want them to see.’)_

But that was before Allison. That was before she fell in love and her comfort slowly shifted from the silence of dusty exhibits to the warmth of soft skin against her own and the sensation of gentle hands carding through her hair. And the bad days- the days where everything was dark and nothing but the museum could help- grew scarcer, but they were still there. They still happened. But for the first time in her life, she didn’t have to face them alone. 

_(She’d never be alone again)._

Because she’d told Allison. She’d confided in her what she’d kept a secret her entire life, what she’d never thought she’d share because to her, it felt sacred. It felt like if anyone else knew of it, it would be like sacrilege and she would lose her safe place.

_(She’d worried people wouldn’t understand why she needed a place like that, that they’d take it away from her and ruin it with their scrutiny)._

But Allison hadn’t. She’d nodded as Renee spoke, listening to her as she babbled about everything (how sometimes she couldn’t bear to be strong, that she needed to let go of every little thing and just find shelter, how she could only breathe again when she was surrounded by relics of the past in the long museum halls) and she’d understood. She had understood and accepted everything she said, whether it was tiny and inconsequential or a dirty and damning. She’d even offered her own secrets, making it easier to breathe because _she wasn’t alone_ (not in this, not ever again). 

_(Allison told her of how she always felt at ease around animals and how, when she was younger, if she got scared she would go and hide in the stables where the horses would comfort her. She told her how she’d never grown out of this and she spent a lot of time at a stable nearby. She told her of her favourite horse that had been left at her parents house and that she intended to get them back when she could)._

From that day forth, Allison would accompany her to the museums. On the bad days- whether they were bloody or bleak- she’d take one look at her before grabbing her car keys and cancelling everything they had planned for the day (on more than one occasion she’d had to tell Kevin to ‘Fuck off.’) And then they’d drive until they were there.

_(Until they were home. Until they were safe)._

Sometimes, they wouldn’t talk, because Renee simply needed silent comfort and company to help her through it. On those days they would only sit in front of an exhibit, not moving as she stared at it and let her thoughts reign free. Allison's hand would lie between them, palm up, ready for her to take when she needed to hold her tightly and feel the warmth and comfort that came from her, to feel the steady beat of her pulse to remind her that they weren’t in danger and they were both very much alive.

_(She’d often find herself clutching that hand like a lifeline, grip far too tight, but Allison never said anything about it, simply squeezed back)._

Sometimes she needed the crowd there, to remind herself that  this was all real and it wasn’t just a dream, because there were strangers who hadn’t been touched by the violence there and she was fine, she was making it. On those days, they’d walk aimlessly through the exhibits, hands clasped together as Allison talked about mundane things so she had something to focus on as she found herself wading towards shallower depths, dragging herself from her memories one step at a time. 

_(Allison would come out of those days with her voice hoarse, but the one time Renee asked her about it she simply said:_

_“If it would help you, then I’d cut my own tongue out. So stop fussing.”_

_She never asked again, but following those days she always made sure that she rested so she’d recover)._

And sometimes, she needed to pray. On those days, she’d sit in front of an exhibit and just pray for hours (about her worries, her fears, about Allison. About anything and everything that came to mind until there was nothing left to pray for and she’d recite the holy teachings to herself until she finally felt like she was no longer drowning). These were the times she needed to be alone. The museum was always empty (Allison would book it out so it was just them), and Allison would go look around until she was ready to leave. On those days they didn’t talk and they didn’t touch (she couldn’t handle it, not when she felt like she was going to break everyone close to her), but they were there together and that knowledge was enough.

_(They’d stay in a hotel on those nights, because was never ready to face home right away)._

The bad days were inconsistent and what she needed one time was never the same as the last, but the one thing that never changed was her need for the museum. It would always be her place of comfort.

_(And Allison would always be right there with her, because it wasn’t home without her)._

**Author's Note:**

> Can be found on [tumblr.](http://polyhymina.tumblr.com/writings)


End file.
